


We Meet the Night

by Saffiaan



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace (TV 2016)
Genre: Canon Era, Danatole, Execution, Fedrey - Freeform, It's almost seethrough honestly, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period-Typical Homophobia, campfires are awesome, light nsfw, probably
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-08-19 11:45:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16533989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saffiaan/pseuds/Saffiaan
Summary: Andrey definitely choose the wrong time to fall in love and the wrong person to fall in love with. So did Anatole. The only thing that can follow are bad decisions, many mistakes and big risks.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I'm at it again. Sue me. This fic will be featuring a lot more Anatole though, because I secretly do love the blond idiot. Even though I never paint him in a good light... oops?  
> This is also as NSFW as this story goes, I think. I haven't written everything yet, but so far, this is the worst.
> 
> Enjoy!

Andrey had no idea how he had ever found himself in bed with none other than Fyodor Dolokhov. It was probably due to alcohol. Even if it wasn’t, he would gratefully use the excuse anyway. Sadly, that only worked the first time. The second time, there was no alcohol involved. Only a whispered suggestion and a well-placed hand. Well, it had been cold. It had been cold and the majority of the soldiers were extremely sober, so there was his excuse. The third time, Andrey decided to blame the battle that everyone was sure would happen the next day. It was somewhat desperate, he was aware, but it was an excuse. Even if that excuse implied that he was afraid to die. Well, who would blame him for wanting to live a little? (A lot of people probably, if this was the way he decided to do it.)

However, this time, there was no excuse. Well. Technically there was one, but it was worse than having no excuse at all. The fact that Fyodor’s regiment would be leaving Andrey’s had nothing to do with this. That it was this time Andrey who had sought out the other instead of the other way around, had nothing to do with that. It was simply another fact among many. It had as much to do with the situation as the fact that the sky is blue.

Still. Excuse or not, the situation was a fact. But even without an excuse, Andrey couldn’t feel disgusted with himself as he grinded above Fyodor. His legs – fuck, those legs, where tightly wrapped around the prince’s hips. Skilled hands, which were capable of much more than what they were doing now, were twisted in Andrey’s curls. Red, swollen lips curled up in a grin that looked like it would forever stay there. A bit inappropriate perhaps, but Andrey couldn’t help but… appreciate it.

Once they were both done and spend, it took Fyodor exactly 38 seconds before he sat up. It made sense, of course. Why would he want to stay here for longer than necessary? Still, there was a slight aching in Andrey’s chest he couldn’t deny. He watched as the soldier got up from the ground, where they had laid down in order to spare Andrey’s cot. Fyodor leaving may have been somewhat disappointing, but Andrey gladly watched him getting ready to leave. Maybe he should help figure out what uniform belongs to who, but he didn’t feel very inclined to do that. And maybe the soldier didn’t need help, as he had found and put on his clothes sooner than Andrey would have liked. With nothing but a wink and a smirk, Fyodor disappeared into the night, leaving Andrey alone.

He fell back again, looking up at where the cloth of the tent seemed to disappear in darkness. He should probably get up and get onto his cot. It may not have been a very comfortable piece of furniture, but it was better than the wood he now lay on. Not just that, but his cot also had a blanket and his sweat was drying on his body as if it were ice. He should at least get dressed, throw on a shirt or put his pants back on. However, he did none of those things. He simply lay there, looking at the darkness, replaying in his mind everything that had just happened in detail. It had become a habit by now. Fyodor would leave him alone and Andrey would remember their night together. Remember the scratching of a beard against his thigh. Remember strong hands grapping his hips. Remember bodies clashing together and tongues fighting over each other. He saw those stormy eyes before him now, their pupils dilated with lust. He remembered how he had sent Fyodor over the edge, the sounds that had come out of him.

And, as was habit as well, his hand reached for his member, which had hardened again. With scenes playing in his mind’s eye, the memory of fingers and lips on his skin and a few rough strokes, Andrey came again. This time with a name on his lips, whispered into the cold night air. That was not exactly a habit, though it was the second time it had happened now. There was no excuse for it, no good reason. But, like last time, Andrey would just pretend nothing had happened once morning came. If he forgot, there would be no one left to remember and it would be just like it had never happened. Which was ultimately for the best, right?


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anatole and Fedya have some catching up to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter numbering is forever going to annoy me, but we're all just gonna have to deal with it.

Being degraded to the ranks had absolutely not been on Fedya’s to do list. It was inconvenient in many ways and he was not looking forward to sucking his way up again. Besides, there were only so many good things that could be said about some people. However, there was one thing that Fedya quite liked about his new position: no one ever noticed when he decided to snuck in someone else’s tent. Last month or so that someone had been Andrey Bolkonsky, to Fedya’s own surprise. It was interesting though, to see the stiff prince in this new light. Rather amusing too, especially when he had sought Fedya out himself. Considering that latest development, it was a bit of a shame that he had to leave. However, not too much, since Fedya had found himself someone else to entertain himself with.

Or rather. That someone had found him. Simply for the fact that Anatole Kuragin wasn’t someone to be found. Finding someone would indicate there had to be searched for them. Anatole Kuragin was seen and noticed, whether the people around him wanted to or not. Very different from Fedya, who specialised in disappearing in a crowd, though that was usually just for the sake of convenience. But he hadn’t even had the chance to try disappear or Anatole had already found him. Pulled him literally out of the crowd, in fact.

It was proof to the fact that no one would notice he wasn’t there, as he had been gone for at least an hour. Which was a good thing, as they probably broke at least half a dozen rules anytime they met in some secluded place. A week, a string of broken rules and two battles later, they were seated around one of the small fires that were lit each night at camp. That was the nice thing about Anatole too. He didn’t go into battle. So no risk involved there. The riskiest thing he did was attempting to read letters he wasn’t supposed to read. Well, that and his attempt to charm the pants off of any man who may be into something else than women. So far without any success though, at least not from what Fedya could tell. Which was just as well. Not that Fedya really wanted Anatole for himself, but it sure was more fun this way.

“How have you not died of boredom yet?” Anatole asked. Considering that the question followed a silence that had been going on for a good couple of minutes, Fedya could give him little more than a confused look. The blond sighed and explained: “The past month or so? Before you finally got your ass here.” Of course. Because Anatole couldn’t fathom that anyone he slept regularly with could have fun without him.

“I wasn’t bored, actually,” Fedya said, taking a swig from the whiskey bottle that was held loosely between his fingers before handing it to Anatole. “It shouldn’t surprise you that there are more people walking around who are in for a good night and a regrettable morning.”

Anatole chuckled and seemed to have no intention of drinking from the bottle anytime soon, making Fedya regret he had ever handed it over. “I’m not, but, no offense, you are not the most charming person around, mon chèr. Much less the person to go hunting for good company.”

“I’m deeply insulted.”

The prince’s chuckle now evolved into real laughter, which honestly just indicated that they’d had too much to drink. After all, Fedya’s dry comment hadn’t been that funny. Or even funny at all. But Anatole seemed to find it downright hilarious and it took him way too long, in Fedya’s opinion, to calm down and ask: “So whose company did you find?”

“Andrey Bolkonsky,” Fedya answered. Anatole looked at him as if he had just announced he had fucked a horse. Then the prince seemed to recover and whistled between his teeth. Finally, he took a swig from the bottle and handed it back to Fedya, who didn’t waste a second before taking a swig. This time he kept the bottle though.

“That’s the last person I’d have expected. Didn’t know he knew the meaning of ‘fun’,” Anatole said, looking at the fire with a seriousness that wasn’t entirely suited of the topic. But then again, Fedya doubted there was another topic he’d take more seriously. The blond turned his head and looked at his friend with a curiosity equally unsuited. “Is he any good?”

“No, he’s absolutely terrible, but I slept with him more than once anyway,” Fedya answered dryly, which earned him a slap on the back. Once again, Anatole was laughing much more than the situation required of him. Well, at least someone in the camp was having fun. It was probably Anatole’s speciality to have fun even when, or maybe especially when, no one else was.

“Well, maybe I’ll have to try for myself then sometime, eh?” Anatole said once he had calmed down.

“I wish you good luck with that, considering we’re about two days walking removed.”

“Not for long,” Anatole said in a tone that was more weird than that it got Fedya curious. The grin that went with it didn’t really help either.

Fedya sighed and looked at his friend. “What letters did you read this time?” Anatole held out his hand, indicating he’d want the whiskey before he’d give a response. So Fedya sighed, took a quick swig and handed the bottle over.

“He’ll be headed this way sometime next week.” Anatole took a swig, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Apparently they’ll be swapping some officers. He’s to be given command of your regiment.” That was certainly interesting news. More importantly, it was convenient. People generally liked the people they slept with. Especially if they end up initiating it. Having an officer in command who actually liked Fedya? Very convenient indeed.

“Do you think he’d have room in his bed for someone else?” Anatole continued. Of course, leave it to Anatole to want to try out the man who up until now was considered a living statue. In all fairness, Fedya couldn’t really blame him. After all, he had started it, hadn’t he?

“At the same time?” Fedya asked with a smirk. He should probably watch out with suggestions like that, as he had no doubt Anatole would do it. But that wouldn’t stop him from making them anyway. And well. What if Anatole would actually try to get that going? Fedya couldn’t claim to have many protests. It would be interesting to say the least.


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andrey and Fedya meet again.

The fact that Fyodor was now in Andrey’s regiment, shouldn’t have mattered to the prince. And sure, in the grand scheme of things, it probably didn’t really matter. For the first few days it seemed like nothing had ever happened between them. Except for the fact that things had. And Andrey hadn’t forgotten, no matter how hard he had tried. Every time he saw Fyodor he was involuntarily reminded of their nights together. It was to be expected really. What was much more unexpected was the other moments his mind went back to. The short conversations they’d had. Admittedly, they hadn’t talked a lot and usually the talks ended up in his tent. Still, when they had talked it had been… Andrey was hesitant to say ‘fun’, but it was something along those lines.

Sadly, it seemed that Fyodor had forgotten. At least, he gave Andrey little to no recognition. There were looks, sometimes smirks, but that was about it. It looked like all his attention had been claimed by Anatole Kuragin. Nearly every evening that Andrey walked through the camp, he could find the two men sitting near a campfire. Sometimes in a soft conversation, often times bickering and even more often with hands in places they shouldn’t be. Well, it looked innocent enough, but Andrey knew better now. He knew how Fyodor worked, at least a bit, and he also knew that Anatole was worse. Andrey couldn’t help or deny the tinge of jealousy he felt at the closeness of the two.

But one evening when he was making his round, he found Fyodor sitting near a fire by himself. Andrey glanced around, but didn’t see the blond prince nearby. He hesitated for a second. He wanted to talk with Fyodor again, but had no idea if the gesture would be appreciated. Although, the last time he had shown initiative, it had been appreciated. And it wasn’t like Fyodor had showed a dislike for him either, simply had mostly ignored him. So Andrey figured it was worth a shot.

“Where’s your friend?” he asked as he sat down next to Fyodor, who as usual was nursing a bottle of alcohol. Vodka this time.

“Hell if I know,” Fyodor answered, followed by a lengthy swig from his bottle. He held it out to Andrey, who hardly hesitated before taking it and taking a smaller sip himself. The burn was a nice way to push away the nervous anticipation he had no business feeling, but felt all the same. He handed the bottle back to Fyodor, who continued: “He’s probably either stuck on his hair, some handsome young kid or both. Knowing Anatole probably both.” Fyodor shrugged and took another swig. Andrey now noticed he had made quite a dent in the bottle already. “Whatever the reason, he’s not here, which is just as well.”

“Why?” Andrey asked and he immediately regretted it. Fyodor shot him a suggestive smirk, which made the heat of the fire seem a lot warmer all of a sudden.

“He doesn’t bite, you know,” Fyodor remarked, “not usually anyway. Although… I sincerely doubt that’s what kept you away.” His gaze rested on the inside of Andrey’s thigh for a few seconds. Andrey could practically feel the scar burning there. The scar which was of course caused by Fyodor biting him. Andrey felt his face heat up even more and decided he didn’t want to match the fire this evening.

“At least we know where you got it from then,” Andrey said, causing Fyodor to laugh, a sound which Andrey welcomed in the soberness of the situation they found themselves in. As if it were a reward, he was offered the bottle again, but this time he declined it. He had no desire to get drunk, as hangovers at the front were even more annoying than the ones at home. Mostly because here there was a lot of shouting in the early morning.

“Well, it’s not like I bite either. And in my case ‘usually’ doesn’t need to be added,” Andrey continued, adding the last part with a pointed look at Fyodor, earning him a snort. “It’s not like you came up to me either. You almost got me thinking I was dealing with someone else completely.”

“Wasn’t aware my face was that forgettable,” Fedya said, a smirk pulling up the corners of his mouth, his eyes trained on the fire in front of them. “I’m insulted, Drey.”

Andrey chuckled, but still asked the question he wanted an answer to: “So why didn’t you?”

“I was wondering how long it would take you to make a move,” Fedya answered, giving a small shrug. He was lying. Andrey knew he was lying. He also guessed he wasn’t going to get the real answer. Not if Fedya’s eyes were indication, which were dancing with more than just the reflection of the flames. His eyes hardened and the something disappeared and it seemed that they didn’t even reflect the flames anymore. It was almost like a dead man’s eyes in the face of a living man. It was extremely uncanny. Somehow the smirk that placed itself on his face, different from the hint of one that had been there only seconds prior, made it even more uncanny. “Took you long enough. So are you going to take just as long to invite me to your tent? Cause in that case I think it’s more efficient if I do it myself.”

Suddenly it dawned on Andrey that he wasn’t seeing anything new. This was how Fedya usually looked. It was only uncanny simply because Andrey had seen something else now. It was like they said. One couldn’t recognise good without bad. Maybe a person wouldn’t be able to recognise dead without having seen life either. But that wasn’t really the case either. Andrey had seen those eyes alive before. But then they were dark, their pupils blown wide.

He hadn’t come here to take Fedya back in his bed, but suddenly he’d do anything to bring those eyes back alive again. And well, maybe it wasn’t something he entirely minded either, even if it was incredibly risky. He scraped his throat and nodded. “Let’s go then.”


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anatole gets jealous and Fedya makes mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone interested, this chapter also provides some insight to why I prefer Fedrey over Danatole. And well, for the everyone who isn't interested, it's still there. That said, I still love Anatole as a character and have nothing against Danatole as a ship.

It hadn’t taken Fedya long to notice the big difference between Anatole and Andrey. Anatole was like a sea. Extremely unpredictable and ultimately, unforgiving. Fedya had no choice but to be pulled in those waves and go where he was tossed. To go along with Anatole’s moods and crazy ideas. He hadn’t minded, once upon a time. After all, things usually turned out to be fun and he liked the unpredictable side of it. Fedya wasn’t a boring person and he didn’t like boring people. Anatole certainly did not disappoint there. Still, for some reason, it got less fun over time. Sometimes it was downright annoying. Anatole could be quite childish if he wanted to be and was at other times irrational at best. But Fedya hadn’t cared much and had stuck around. There were still plenty of moments where it had been fun and he’d just have to suck up the rest. However, those moments were slimming in amount. It felt more like he was drowning beneath Anatole’s waves, taken with the current whether he wanted to or not. Fedya was losing every scrap of control and got nothing in return. He hated it.

Andrey was nothing like that. Yes, he could be boring in the sense that Fedya didn’t expect him to break down a small village during a drunken night, but was that really so bad? Fedya was reckless enough by himself, he needed no help there. And it wasn’t like Andrey was boring either. After all, stupidity was not the only thing that could make things interesting. In Andrey it was the exact opposite. He was interesting because he was smart. Smarter than Fedya, who would of course never admit that out loud. Luckily he was better with words so he wouldn’t have to. The discussions were what kept it interesting _and_ fun. It was a way for Fedya to keep his mind on etch in a comfortable way. Without having to worry about cleaning up someone’s messes and preventing people from getting jailed. Andrey was, simply put, much more mature than Anatole could ever be.

It wasn’t weird then, that when Andrey finally showed some initiative, Fedya agreed. He didn’t care that he nowadays spent every night with Anatole. It wasn’t like the blond wouldn’t drop him if someone prettier happened to pass by. There was the nagging voice that there were multiple men around the camp Fedya knew had slept with Anatole. Most of them more handsome than Fedya. Still, every night Fedya had found Anatole in his own tent. Alone. It was an annoying voice. One that could easily be chased away with a swig of vodka. Down to wherever he had thrown the rest of his conscience.

The voice hadn’t come up in the time he spent with Andrey and Fedya was thankful for that. Sadly, it appeared there was no need for it to. Once he had left Andrey’s tent and was making his way to his own, he walked into Anatole himself. The prince looked more annoyed than anything else really. Well, a bit offended perhaps, but Anatole had always been easy to offend.

“Where have you been?” Anatole asked, crossing his arms.

Fedya raised an eyebrow, the by now familiar annoyance coming up again. “I don’t recall being obliged to make you aware of my position.” It was a bit petty perhaps. He knew talking like that annoyed Anatole, who understandably didn’t like to be talked down to. Fedya didn’t care though.

“We meet every night! It makes sense for you to at least inform me if you’re otherwise preoccupied.”

“Would you?”

Anatole was silent at that. He had obviously expected Fedya to defend himself. Had obviously thought of how to push down those defences already. It was an old routine of theirs. It was also clear that Anatole didn’t like that they were doing something else this time. He was quiet for a little while. Then he dropped his arms and most of his annoyance seemed to disappear instantly. “Well, it’s no matter. The night is still young. Come on.”

Usually, Fedya would have gone along. He would have swallowed his annoyance, followed Anatole to his tent and have an otherwise fun night. Maybe it would have been worth it, but he was sick of it now. Sick of this routine of theirs. Sick of Anatole and his lack of caring for anyone who wasn’t himself.

“No.”

“What?” Anatole turned around, annoyance back once again. Then a lazy grin curled up his lips. He truly was incapable of holding an emotion for longer than ten seconds. “This is no time for games, Fyedka.”

“I’m dead serious. I’m going to sleep alone in my own tent. Do whatever you want I suppose, but find someone else to do it with.” Fedya was in no mood to actually discuss this with Anatole, who was impossible to have serious discussions with anyway. So he decided to simply not have the discussion. He turned around and started walking away.

Movement behind him put his permanently frayed nerves even further on edge. When fingers closed around his wrist, he turned around and buried his knee in the other’s stomach without thinking about it for a second. With his free hand, he hit the man in front of him in the face, while he twisted his wrist free. Only after he had taken a few steps back, he took the time to notice who had grabbed his wrist.

Anatole. Of course it was Anatole. Fedya should have fucking realised it was the man he had literally just turned his back to. Should have, but clearly didn’t. And now his friend was standing there. Doubled over, an arm wrapped around his stomach, the other pressed against his face. Fedya could see blood drip from between Anatole’s fingers. Of course he’d hit the nose. Because that’s what he always did.

Usually, Fedya would feel at least a bit guilty. He’d apologise and try to help Anatole. Not right now though. In this moment he really couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty. And without help, it took Anatole only seconds to stand up straight, though he still had his hand against his face. It appeared that Fedya wasn’t the only one who had taken a different stance on the situation. Anatole was _smirking_. The smirk he’d wear when he had won yet another argument. Usually when he wore it, his nose wasn’t bleeding.

“You struck me,” Anatole said, as if it were something to be proud of. “You struck a superior officer.” Fedya’s blood ran cold for a second. True, Anatole was hardly an officer and almost no one’s superior. But Fedya, who wasn’t an officer at all… Well, for him, Anatole was indeed a superior. No matter how annoying. And it wouldn’t have mattered if it weren’t for the way Anatole had said it. If it weren’t for that smirk of his.

“What of it?”

“They execute you for that, you know,” Anatole said, the smugness in his voice only growing. Of course Fedya knew and he felt dread at Anatole’s implication here. “It would be a shame if I told anyone how I got my nose so bloody.”

Blackmail absolutely wasn’t above Anatole. Not even of this level. However, neither was bluff. Fedya praised himself on being a decent gambler and he was pretty good in calling people out on their bluff. True, he’d never had to do it with Anatole, but it shouldn’t be too hard. Especially since there was now so much more context than at a game of poker. A cold grin slid over his own features and he saw a look of uncertainty on Anatole’s face. Clearly not the reaction he had expected, which confirmed Fedya’s suspicions.

“Tell them, I’m sure no one should have trouble finding me.” He turned around, leaving Anatole behind him. The fact that he could leave without any problems was further proof that Anatole had been bluffing. He certainly wouldn’t be happy with the state of things now, but Fedya still didn’t really care. And what was one friend less? Anatole had outlived his use anyway. It wasn’t why Fedya had stuck with him, but it was easy to think like that.

It turned out that Fedya wasn’t as good on calling people out on their bluff as he had thought.


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fedya faces the consequences of his actions and Andrey is the best bad friend there is.

Executions were far from Andrey’s favourite thing to do. It usually concerned scared kids who had tried to run or defeated men who had tried to drown their sorrows away at the wrong time. No, it wasn’t pleasant at all, but it still needed to be done. It was simply a necessary evil. However, even that seemed like an insufficient term when he heard who was to be executed this morning.

With a forced calm, he walked through the fort where the higher officers stayed and where the prisoners were kept. Ilyin had looked a bit weird when Andrey had requested a visit, but had granted it anyway. Andrey knew who was supposed to be in the cell, but for some reason it was still a bit of a shock to see the man who had been kissing him less than ten hours ago.

Fedya, to his credit, looked scarily calm. Like he was simply waiting for breakfast and not for someone to come and kill him. At least, it seemed that way until he raised his eyes to meet Andrey’s. Those eyes, ironically, weren’t a dead man’s anymore. They were alert, focused, distrusting, cold to the point of cruel and at the edge, just the tiniest flicker of fear. They looked like Andrey imagined them to look on the battlefield. No mercy. No time for doubts. No time for mistakes. Except that this was a battle Fedya was bound to lose, no matter what he’d do.

“Well, at least it’s not that guy with the monobrow. That would be a depressing last sight,” Fedya remarked with the air of a man who was appointed a dance partner and decided the one he got was good enough.

“What happened?” Andrey asked, completely ignoring what Fedya had said. He couldn’t imagine how the face of his executioner would be of any importance to the man. But then again, he had no idea what could possibly be going through Fedya’s mind right now to make him act the way he was acting right now.

“Oh? Didn’t you hear?” Fedya didn’t really ask it. His voice was suddenly coated in sarcasm with a hint of anger, as if the calm boredom had never been there. It felt a bit too much like an animal driven in a corner, snapping simply because that’s all the resistance it could still put up. “I finally snapped. Everyone had seen it coming, seems like you’re the only one to be surprised.”

“That’s not what happened.”

“Who says it isn’t?” Fedya shrugged, as if he meant it. Well, maybe he did. Andrey didn’t know anymore. “All I know is that I broke Anatole’s stupid nose and the oversized child started screaming. Maybe I did snap. Don’t think I can really be blamed, considering who we’re talking about here. But what does it matter?”

“If the circumstances are in your favour, they may let you off. They’ll at least let you off easy. You’ll live,” Andrey argued. He didn’t understand how Fedya could have given up so easily. Especially because it was Fedya. Andrey hadn’t known him for incredibly long, but it had become apparent soon enough that the man was extremely stubborn.

But Fedya didn’t seem to consider it. He simply let out an extremely empty laugh. “What do you want me to tell them? That I hit Anatole because I didn’t want to spend the night in his bed? Those are hardly softening circumstances. And even if they were, it wouldn’t matter. If they were to believe me, they’d be accusing Anatole of homosexuality. Vasily may not be a huge fan of his son, but they’re not stupid enough to try and find the boundaries of that. And even if they did, I doubt Anatole will hesitate to tell them that we’ve slept together for God knows how long. I’ll end up dead either way.”

Andrey was quiet for a few seconds. It was ridiculous. It was stupid for so many reasons. But Fedya wasn’t wrong. He had no title or money and Anatole did, disgraced as he was. Fedya may have been a good soldier, but that wasn’t going to help him now. Besides, he had done plenty of illegal things and Andrey was sure he didn’t know even half of it. He knew Fedya was a gambler. It seemed he had been gambling with his own life all along. Gambling came with risks. You could lose.

“Do me a favour?” Fedya asked, though it hardly sounded like a question. He didn’t really give Andrey the opportunity to respond either. He was already taking something out of his pocket and held it out to the prince, who now realised it was a letter. “Can you get this delivered?” Andrey took the envelope and looked at the name on it. It looked like it was family of Fedya. Andrey realised he didn’t know anything about the man’s family. “See it as a friend’s last request or some shit like that if it makes you happy.”

“We’re friends?” Andrey asked, even though he was well aware that was possible the least important thing happening here. It seemed that Fedya was aware of it too, as he shot the prince a very dry look.

“Sure, go ahead and tell the dead man that he’s friendless save for the man who turned him in. You’re a real killjoy, Bolkonsky,” Fedya said, rolling his eyes.

“Nice friends you have.” One of them had turned Fedya in and the other would kill him. Fedya wasn’t a good person, but Andrey didn’t think he was bad enough to deserve this.

“I know,” Fedya said, something in his voice that Andrey didn’t quite recognise. There was that something in his eyes again, the thing that Andrey had seen the night prior. It didn’t go away this time, but Andrey still couldn’t identify it. What he could identify however was the flicker of fear that was still present.

“It’s hardly any use to go back now, I think,” Andrey said after a little while, even though it wasn’t exactly true. “Mind if I just wait here?” He knew he was only making it harder on himself, but he couldn’t let Fedya spend his last few hours alone.

“Make yourself at home, I guess,” Fedya said with a shrug and the necessary sarcasm. The something was gone from his eyes and the look from earlier had returned. Like he had stepped back on the battlefield again. But this time Andrey had decided to walk with him and he sat down opposite of the soldier.

They didn’t say anything. The silence was more pressing than it was awkward. After an hour or so, the door swung open and revealed Ilyin in the doorway. The officer looked more than a little surprised to see Andrey in the cell, but thankfully didn’t comment on it. Both the men in the cell stood up.

“Let’s get this over with then,” Fedya said, seemingly completely unaware of how inappropriate that was to say. Well, Andrey doubted he’d care if he was aware of it. Ilyin wasn’t very amused by it though and tied Fedya’s hands behind his back more roughly than he probably should have. At least by the looks of it. Fedya once again seemed not to notice and Andrey half expected him to say something like ‘hot’. Luckily, he didn’t and they soon enough left the cell.

They made their way in silence to an empty field at the edge of the camp. It was a bit of a secluded spot, since executions weren’t exactly meant to be a public affair. Ilyin placed Fedya where he wanted the man, which was an oddly specific place. He then kicked the soldier behind the knees, causing Fedya to fall to his knees. This wasn’t procedure, Andrey knew. Soldiers were allowed to stand, to die with some dignity but it seemed that Ilyin wasn’t going to grand any of that. It vaguely made Andrey wonder if the officer had some sort of history with Fedya.

“I trust you’ll be able to handle it from here, Prince Andrey,” Ilyin said before he made his way back to the edge of the camp. From there he’d be able to still look, but he’d also be able to prevent anyone else from watching.

Andrey got his gun out of its holster and pointed it at Fedya. The man’s features were twisted in a snarl. It was clear that Andrey was the enemy now, no matter Fedya’s words from earlier. It made sense. He supposed a wolf would still turn on its brother if that brother was threatening enough. Besides. Predators backed in a corner have no choice but to lash out. And it was painfully obvious that Fedya, his hands bound, on his knees, waiting for a bullet, was backed in a corner.

Andrey was waiting too long, he knew. It was as if he were still searching for a way out, despite knowing there was none. Ilyin was still keeping a sharp eye on them, growing impatient. There were no arguments to be made that would defend Fedya, not really. Andrey wanted to throw up. He wanted to close his eyes.

He did neither.

He never broke eye contact with Fedya as he pulled the trigger.


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anatole tries to blame anyone but himself but it was just his own fault so he's in bad luck.

It took about twenty-four hours before Anatole realised he had made a big mistake. A big and incredibly stupid mistake. To realise that getting his friend killed wasn’t going to gain him anything.

Somewhat fittingly, he realised this as he was climaxing inside of some soldier whose name he hadn’t bothered to remember. If he had ever asked in the first place. He rolled off of the man and sat up, not caring that the other hadn’t released yet. Anatole’s breathing didn’t slow down, but instead increased as it fully came through to him that he might have very well killed Fedya. Why on earth had he ever thought that would work? Yes, Fedya hadn’t wanted him. Had left him for someone else. But he couldn’t want Anatole if he were dead! God, how he hadn’t he realised that right away?

Anatole got to his feet faster than he ever had before and got dressed in even less time.  The soldier still on the floor looked both annoyed and confused, but Anatole didn’t care to take the time to explain and slipped out of the tent. He ran through the darkness to the fort. He had nearly reached the building when he ran into someone coming out of it. Looking up, he saw it was Andrey Bolkonsky. Of course, that would just be his luck.

“Kuragin, what are you doing here?” Andrey asked with a voice that was soaked in annoyance. For a second, Anatole felt victorious at having taken Fedya from this man, but then he remembered again how he had done that and nothing of the victorious feeling remained.

“I need to find Fedya,” he answered, trying to slip past the prince, but not succeeding. “There has been a mistake.”

For some reason, Andrey’s demeanour shifted from annoyed to angry at those words. “A mistake? That’s what you’re calling this? A mistake?” The prince seemed to double in size and Anatole involuntarily took a step back. “You got your friend killed because you were jealous and you call it a mistake?” Anatole had never considered Andrey to be a threatening man, but in that moment, he seemed like a looming thunderstorm.

“Yes,” Anatole begrudgingly admitted. When put like that, it sounded quite ugly, “but that’s why I’m here now! It was a mistake. I have to talk to someone before they kill him.”

Suddenly Andrey seemed a lot less threatening. He looked at Anatole in silence for a good couple of seconds before he finally opened his mouth to say: “He’s already dead. I… I had to execute him this morning. Just in time to fit in the grave before they closed it.” He gestured to the open field, where multiple patches of overturned earth were. Mass graves. One of them looked considerably fresher than the others. Anatole looked at it, unwilling to comprehend what this all meant. “I hope you’re satisfied.” At those words, Anatole’s eyes snapped back to Andrey.

Andrey, who had killed Fedya. Who had killed Fedya too early. Because it had been convenient.

No.

Andrey may have pulled the trigger, but Anatole had killed his friend. It was his fault, had all been his own stupid fault. Because he wanted Fedya for himself. Because he was jealous.

_Jealous_.

The word echoed around in his head and he hardly registered Andrey walking away.

Anatole didn’t get jealous. He was the one to make people jealous, not the other way around. Especially not because he was denied for one night. He should have just found someone else to amuse himself with. Why hadn’t he? The answer to that question was probably the same as to the question he had been ignoring, but that still had been there for a while. Why hadn’t he slept with anyone else lately? It had just been Fedya. He had always waited for Fedya.

Anatole didn’t believe in monogamy. He didn’t really believe in love either. Not in long lasting anyway. He had been in love a couple of times, even though Hélène always insisted it wasn’t love. Whatever it was, it had always been with young girls. Naïve pretty things. Never with men like Fedya, who was about as far from naïve as it could get. Still, there was something about him. Something about his stormy eyes and morbid sarcasm that made Anatole think he maybe had used the word ‘enchanted’ wrong all along.

Maybe he had been in love. For real this time. He glanced over at the heap of earth again and suddenly felt sick to the core. He willed his legs to walk towards it, but they didn’t move. He just stood there, for once in his life not knowing what to do next.

Without him telling them to do so, Anatole’s legs finally started moving, but in the wrong direction. He went the way Andrey had gone, starting to run to catch up with the prince.

“You’re lying,” Anatole said once he had caught up with Andrey. He hadn’t known he was going to say those words, had never agreed to have them roll of his tongue, but now that he had said it, it made sense. Andrey turned around to face him, annoyance once again clear on his features. “You’re lying. Fedya isn’t dead. You’re just saying that so you can keep him for yourself.”

“I wish I were lying,” Andrey reacted and the sad undertone in his voice immediately made Anatole doubt his newfound conviction. “But contrary to you, I don’t put people’s lives on the line simply because I can’t stand the fact that they have their own opinions and emotions.”

Andrey’s words felt like a slap to the face. Suddenly simply being jealous sounded like a better reasoning than this. And Anatole hadn’t just put Fedya’s life on the line. He had known exactly what was going to happen when he went to Ilyin the night before. Well, maybe not exactly but he had known the eventual result. He had known and he had felt justified.

“Look, I’m sorry, I just need to-” Anatole began, his voice shaky, but he was interrupted by Andrey.

“Your apologies are useless, Kuragin. Fedya is dead and you will have to live with that. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m taking my leave.” With that, Andrey turned around and walked away. Once again leaving Anatole to his own emotions and thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I swear I like Anatole. He just isn't extremely bright every now and then. We all have our moments. (Though I suppose most of us don't get our crush killed)

**Author's Note:**

> As always, let me know what you think! Comments make my day and I'm always looking to improve. (or fangirl)


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